Tunnel Vision Synonym Novels & Stories

As quickly as he had traced down the side of my cheek his hand was gone, back at his side. I took a step from the base of the oak tree and quickly realized I had made a mistake. Memories both from tonight and last summer flashed through my head. The smell of alcohol and sweat flashed through my brain, the sound of my own scream ringing through my ears was next to follow. I now understood what the term 'tunnel vision' meant. I could hear people speaking, maybe even Alpha Killian, but at the same time I couldn't understand what they were saying. Every sound was foreign in my ears. The only sounds I recognized were the ones in my memories.

And then the tunnel changed shape. Not physically. The walls were where they were. But the light and sound in the space reorganized themselves around a different set of instructions, and the narrow passage became, to any sense trying to navigate it, something vast and branching and without coherent geometry. What the Tunnel-Hound experienced: a space that had been a clear vibration map three seconds ago becoming a hundred vibration maps simultaneously, each one equally convincing, each one leading in a different direction. The prey-signature it had been tracking splitting into a thousand identical copies distributed through an impossible volume of space.

the scout whispered. My vision began to narrow. Tunnel vision. Heat flooded my face. I looked at the horizon, waiting for the first glint of Citadel metal.

He'd make a great hunter in the coming year. "Your hearing is astounding, I can only hear the birds and squirrels but you can hear for miles. Although you may not be able to see what you hunt, you can smell and hear them." Kate said smiling as she watched her brother look at her happily, his sightless blue eyes gleaming with happiness.

"Tunnel vision?" "Yes." She lifts her eyes to mine. "Why?" "Its portrayal of fate. It isn't tragic, or painful. It simply relays what's meant to be will be." She laughs. "That sounds tragic." "Not if what's meant to be is something beautiful, that despite whatever tragedy you may face, there's always a beacon at the end of the tunnel--if you can envision it." Her eyes linger on mine and I'm so distracted by the greens of them that I don't register when she moves closer. "Tunnel vision. That's beautiful," she whispers and I feel the words wrap around me.

The very eyes I had once lost myself in were now cold and empty. “Elijah, do you remember what you promised me?”

This tunnel cares so much about mobility and personal crises. It does. It’s the reason why we deliver dried oreganos or life and death safely from point to point, why in express we smell home. I stay alive though, sensing velocity as an ambulance would in a dream— brisk, accidental. Remember the first time your little bones cried for milk? The turquoise light I detest are eyes, the remaining light so imperial to touch base the remaining skin of distance, my alabaster bed, words dissolving to onion molecules,

“Necessary.” At one point the tunnel narrowed again, and Corvin’s shoulder brushed Elowen’s. The contact sent a brief spark through Elowen’s nerves that had nothing to do with fear. He hated it, and wanted more at the same time. Corvin paused at a fork. He closed his eyes for a moment, as if listening for something beyond sound. Elowen watched him carefully. “Crown Sight?” Corvin opened his eyes again. “Not Sight. Instinct.”